


Zerbino

by AgapantoBlu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dorks are oblivious, In Sara We Trust, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgapantoBlu/pseuds/AgapantoBlu
Summary: “You’re not being subtle, Mickey. At all.” Sara barely held back from rolling her eyes at her idiot brother. She had a feeling they would end up so deep in her skull they would never come back. 
  
When Emil texts his Italian crush that he's nervous for his next performance in his hometown, Michele absolutely does not take the first flight to hide in a shallow bar outside the ice-rink and watch the other in TV. He just happened to be there, okay?Sara doesn't have all this patience anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Michele is my man, but I am Sara. Emil falls under the plushes' category.

“ _Oh, andiamo*!_ ”

“You’re not being subtle, Mickey. At all.” Sara barely held back from rolling her eyes at her idiot brother. She had a feeling they would end up so deep in her skull they would never come back. 

Michele, the utter imbecile, turned his head to her in a snap and glared, but only for a second before going back to stare at the TV in the high corner of the little café he had dragged her to. And honestly, his excuse of spending some bonding time with his sister away from the other competitors - who, according to him, were all smitten for her - could only get him so far when all he paid attention to was the ice skating competition that was being broadcasted.

The skater on screen finished his performance, perfectly, and bowed to the public. He hurried up in leaving the rink and the judges announced the next competitor. Michele visibly  _flinched_  on his seat, and his hands grabbed the seat of his chair ‘till his knuckles went white.

The words were all completely incomprehensible for the both of them, but the name  _“Emil Nekola”_  was familiar enough for them to pick it out of the rest of the sentence.

Sarah eyed his brother’s focused frown and chewed a huge bite off her brioche, making sure her face showed all the annoyance she was feeling at the moment. “You know we could be, I don’t know,  _at the rink_? You could probably be at the Kiss and Cry already, If it wasn’t for your stupid denia-”

Michele’s hand slammed on her mouth, effectively shutting her up and calling a few confused and kind of accusing glares on them. The guy hurried up in letting her go when a bulky man by the counter cracked his knuckles threateningly. 

Sara bit her lower lip in a valiant effort to hold back her laughter, but the corners of her mouth still rose in a grin.

“I hate you,” Michele growled, crossing his arms on the table and resting his head on them to look back at the screen, where Emil had finally reached the centre of the ring and was greeting his hometown audience. “And stop speaking English, people will understand.”

Sara turned her face to him with the most disbelieving expression she could muster, her eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline. “Do you really believe that flying all the way here from Italy, sitting in a bar in front of the ice-rink, hushing people every time Emil’s name come up and watching a competition that’s commented  _in Czech_ , which you can’t speak for your life, and all because he texted you he was ‘ _feeling a bit down_ ’ about this new routine, is  _not_ pretty obvious itself?!”

But it was too late. Emil’s music had started already and all Mickey deigned her with was an offended “Shhhhhh!” without even turning to look at her, eyes fixed on the screen instead.

Her lips tightened in a thin rigid lide before she stole the brioche-y thing - she hand’t got the name, but whatever - from her brother’s dish and chomped off a good piece of it. If the idiot liked to pine so hard after a guy that was already on his knees for him, free to do as it suited him! But he better not come to complain to her because she’d been trying to set them up for  _months_  already!

“Michele Crispino _, sei assolutamente ridicolo.**_ ”

Michele didn’t ever notice he was being insulted. She wasn’t expecting him to.

Her phone laid inconspicuously on the table.

***

Emil hadn’t been sure about his routine, at all, since…ever. He had put it together with his coach with the proposition to bring it to the next Grand Prix and it was objectively a good routine, of a good difficulty but without the excessive stunts that had costed him last year’s qualification. The music was nice and the moves seamed together gracefully, but it still felt… “ _ugh”_. It was good, it looked good, but it didn’t  _feel_  good.

Emil didn’t like to skate it; so much that in the morning, through a nervous trip too much to the bathroom and endless stretching and pacing, he had done the unthinkable and texted Michele Crispino about it.  _Michele Crispino._ His unrequited, dense as fuck, hopeless but god so hot, Italian crush.

What idiot does something like that?!

Obviously, he had gotten no answer at all but he had imagined Mickey’s face, his expression smushed in that fake-thug way of him as he screamed Italian profanities at his phone, and he had somehow relaxed a bit.

By the time the competitor before him was halfway through his routine, his phone rang. Emil almost melted under the scorching glare of his coach and hurried up in grabbing in from his bag to turn it off.

It was probably like a superhero’s power, by now, but his mind registered the name  _Crispino_  on the screen before he really read what was written on and he had already the text open. 

Wrong sibling, dammit.

> _From: Sara Crispino._  
> 
> _Text: You owe me two hundred euros and six hours of my life between check in and flight at the fucking crack of dawn, Emil. You’re welcome. [Attached file.]_

Emil widened his eyes when the picture loaded to show the profile of one handsome Michele, looking at something high, in front of him, with the light of morning falling on him from the window that covered the whole the background. Hair messed by what had apparently been a sudden flight and lips half open, those violet eyes barely visible through the half open lids and the tanned skin in beautiful contrast with the pale blue sky and…

_Control yourself, Emil. You can’t get on the ice with a hard on._

He took a deep breath, fishing for every ounce of self restrain he could muster before he took another peek at the picture. He was  _so_  going to save it in a protected folded of his phone.

Another ring, another message. His coach would kill him, but he still checked on the text.

> _From: Sara Crispino_
> 
> _Text: Get your ass out there and do your thing before he self-combusts. Also, we’re at the bar in front of the rink: bring me some fucking decent_ caffè _before I kill someone. Namely, your future husband._

He grinned.

***

“What the fuck is he-? What?! WHAT?! What was that?! Sara, did you see that?! What the fuck is he trying to do?! Is he even human at all?!”

Sara had elected to let his brother’s rant enter her head through an ear and get out from the other, completely unprocessed, after the tenth offended compliment that she had been subjected to hear. Michele was too busy grabbing the chair, the table, his cutlery,  _her hand and that was fucking going to bruise_ , to notice he had lost her anyway.

She was done eating her brother’s breakfast, so she had finally moved on to hers - but it wasn’t as good as a sibling’s stolen food, that was a rule - and her unimpressed expression had earned her the curious and somehow amused expression of a waitress.

Michele jumped on his seat when Emil attempted a quadruple Salchow and he exhaled loudly when it worked. He hissed when Nekola missed a combination and chewed on a profanity that would have earned him quite the earful had their grandmother heard him. Sara filed it away in her mind as blackmailing material. 

All in all, Emil did very good. He made some mistakes, but he went through his routine enthusiastically and with a big smile plastered on his mouth. When the end came, he sent kisses to everyone on the bleachers.

“What the fuck?” Michele had gone back to his frown already, “And he said he wasn’t confident! I’mma kick his ass next time I see him!”

“Sure, you will, Michele  _Zerbino***._ ”

“What did you say?!”

“Nothing!” Sara’s cheerful voice and bright smile were fearsome features, Michele decided. He really ought to grow out of falling for them, and soon if he didn’t want to end up in  _big_  troubles. Maybe his sister had been right when she had said they needed to grow stronger apart. “Oh, it’s Emil’s friend!”

_Fuck_ , Michele had missed the Kiss and Cry and the score to glare at his sister. He cussed under his breath, then crossed his arms and proceeded to glare at the skater now performing. A friend of Emil, uh? This Crispino didn’t like him. He looked like a pompous asshole.

“Mickey, stop glaring at the TV, you’re worrying the owner.”

“What can a man do here without his sister bothering him for that?!” he exclaimed, exhaustedly throwing his arms in the air. Sara didn’t look impressed, so he sulkily made to grab his breakfast. Except it wasn’t there anymore. “ _Sara!_ ”

“You weren’t going to eat it anyway! You were too busy ogling Emil!”

“Ogling E-…! I  _wasn’t-_!I’m not-! I didn’t! I most definitely didn’t!” He stood up before his sister could retort. “I’m getting something else to eat! You stay here and…uh…don’t talk to strangers! I’ll beat them up!”

“How old am I, three?” but Michele was already going. Sara looked at him with her head pressed on her fist and sighed. Turning her eyes lazily on the front door of the bar, she smiled when she noticed, through the windows, the figure of a certain skater, barely a coat thrown on his stage costume, attempting to cross the street before his coach could catch him. “You two sure make for quite the pair, uh?” She chuckled to herself as Emil caught sight of their table and lit up like a Christmas tree.

Oh well, good thing gay marriage was legal, in Italy, right?

 

**Author's Note:**

> [A few translations because I couldn't stop myself:
> 
> *“Oh, andiamo!” = “Oh, come on!”  
> **“Michele Crispino, sei assolutamente ridicolo.” = “Michele Crispino, you’re absolutely ridiculous.”  
> ***“Zerbino” = “Doormat”, in Italian is used for someone who’d do anything their lover tells them to do, like “Whipped” in English.  
> “Caffè” = “Coffee”]  
>  
> 
> This ship deserves more love, okay?! Come talk to me about these dorks in love. Tumblr: agapantoblu


End file.
